The Vanishing Glass
by What-Ansketil-Did-Next
Summary: Falsely imprisoned inside Hogwarts Asylum, Harry is determined to prove he's sane. But after taking a walk down the third floor corridor at night, he starts to think he might be crazy after all. AU!HP/LV for Ziggy Sternenstaub.
1. The Reptile Room

**Title: **_The Vanishing Glass_

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Harry Potter or Lord Voldemort. No money is being made from this fan work.

**Rating:** M (in later chapters)

**Pairing:** LV/HP

**Summary: **Falsely imprisoned inside Hogwarts Asylum, Harry is determined to prove he's sane. But after taking a walk down the third floor corridor at night, he starts to think he might be crazy after all. AU!HP/LV for Ziggy Sternenstaub.

**Author's Notes: **This isn't going to be a long story, three or four short chapters at most. Just a small gift for a friend.

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><p><strong>PART I: THE REPTILE ROOM<strong>

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><p><em>"How doth the little crocodile<em>

_Improve his shining tail,_

_And pour the waters of the Nile_

_On every golden scale!_

_"How cheerfully he seems to grin,_

_How neatly spread his claws,_

_And welcome little fishes in_

_With gently smiling jaws!"_

~'Alice in Wonderland'

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><p>"–Harry Potter," he answered diffidently, defiantly but with an undertone of guilt, knowing he shouldn't have let himself get caught in the hospital's third floor corridor. Dr Quirrel raised his eyebrows and his mouth jerked into a smile that didn't reach his pale eyes. Harry took a step back from the young doctor, unnerved by the sudden interest which glinted there. <em>This is all Malfoy's fault<em>. _Stupid fucking Malfoy and his stupid fucking dare._

"Harry P-P-Potter!" Suddenly Dr Quirrel bending over him, exclaiming with almost feverish affability; one of his eyes was twitching. "C-can't t-tell you how p-pleased I am to meet you!" Harry took another two steps back. The doctor scurried closer and placed a trembling hand at Harry's shoulder. "I was hoping you'd c-come, of c-c-course. P-Professor Dumbledore thought w-we ought to wait until you w-were further a-along with your treatments. B-but I always t-thought you should m-m-meet him – it will be f-fascinating – I'll send my notes to y-your Dr Snape, n-never fear, ha ha!"

"He's not _my_ Dr Snape!" Harry snapped as he was dragged down the stone corridor, still silently cursing Draco Malfoy. He'd _so_ wanted to get one in Malfoy's eye. Draco would never _shut up_ about the fact that he was better than everyone else, that his father chaired the board of governors, and that he was _just passing through_ on his way to a bright future in the family business. Apparently Draco had done something bad – _really bad_ – and his father, who (according to Harry's favourite orderly, Hagrid) was a big cheese in the mafia, had managed to get him locked up in Hogwarts instead of prison, until whatever it was cooled down.

Malfoy was as irritating as hell and brilliant at getting under Harry's skin; which was why Harry had been sneaking through the freezing hospital corridors at night to sneak a glance at a crazy serial killer – it probably wasn't the stupidest dare Harry had ever accepted, but it was up there with the best of them. And now some creepy psychiatrist was blathering incomprehensibly about how he'd been _waiting for this moment. _

"…We k-keep most of the v-v-violent patients in Azkaban Ward in the basement levels but it can g-get cold down t-there and he terrifies all the o-others – things are m-much b-better now t-that he has half a floor to himself…" Quirrel swiped his ID through multiple door-locks as they hurried along.

Harry knew next to nothing about the man he'd been dared to catch a glimpse of. The staff didn't like to say the name, said it brought bad luck. Lord Voldemort. He didn't know if Voldemort was an actual lord or if it was just some moniker like "Jack the Ripper". He'd killed a lot of people… was some kind of political terrorist. It was always Voldemort visiting specialists came for. Harry could see them from the windows of Gryffindor Ward, getting in and out of their expensive cars. Luna told him Voldemort was an evil sorcerer who was kept in a dungeon with walls covered with magic spells so he couldn't escape. But that was Luna, who said there were unicorns in the nearby national heritage park and warned Harry to always check the toilet before he sat down because there were man-eating snakes in the plumbing. Not exactly the most reliable source of information.

Their destination was behind yet another thick door, warm and dark. Someone had turned the heating systems up high. A balding, rat-faced orderly with watery eyes got clumsily to his feet, wiping what Harry hoped was sauce off his uniform. "Everything's normal Dr Quirrel – he's asleep." Somehow, without a stutter, he managed to sound more nervous than the manic doctor.

"W-well, he'll wake up, P-P-Pettigrew – he's g-got a guest." He turned back to Harry. "We'll be watching off t-to the s-side. J-just call out if you n-need…" he trailed off, too distracted to finish his sentence. And the two men disappeared behind another door, leaving Harry alone in the darkness. He shivered, afraid, hugging his chest. _You have got to be kidding me._

Suddenly, light flooded Harry's vision and he startled back, blinking and covering his eyes. The forth wall, he realised, wasn't a wall at all but a window into the next room. It was a barren and sterile place, unremarkable but for the creature asleep on the hospital bed within.

Harry wasn't crazy. _Sure_, he was messed up – Stonewall High did that to a person. It never really improved on Goyle shoving his head down a toilet on the first day of term. Being kept in a cupboard by his aunt and uncle didn't help either. But he'd never been to St. Brutus' Centre for Incurably Criminal Boys, despite what it said on the file he'd found in Snape's office. Uncle Vernon made all of that up. So no, _not crazy_. Just a kid with greedy relatives who was unlucky enough to have inherited a big pile of cash from his dead parents.

His plan of convincing his doctor that he wasn't mad pretty much died when Harry was introduced to Dr Snape, who made it clear he wasn't going anywhere fast. Snape completely bought all the crap the Dursleys had spun, and Harry's attempts to tell him the truth only ended with "paranoid narcissist" added to his diagnosis, along with the damning line: _has delusions his relatives hate him and want him locked away in order to steal his fortune._

But looking at Voldemort, Harry found himself wondering if he really_ was_ delusional. If he truly _had _gone off the deep end and hadn't realised, because what he was staring at wasn't… wasn't _human_. It was a skeleton with skin the same colour as the whitewashed walls, with long, spindly fingers like etiolated spiders. Its hairless body shone with a pearly gleam in the dull cell, seeming almost scaled under the clinical lights. Instead of a nose, it had two reptilian slits set into its flat face. Harry stared, mouth open, trying to persuade himself the creature was the result of extensive surgery, or some disfiguring disease. Something that belonged in the horror films Uncle Vernon occasionally let Dudley watch when Aunt Petunia was asleep and Harry had occasionally managed to see bits of from the hallway. He'd got to watch half of _Eraserhead_ once.

It was asleep, one long limb hanging off the side of the mattress, the other resting behind its bald skull. For a moment, Harry thought it had a cut on its face, a livid red slice over one eye, but then the other eye opened and he was caught in a hypnotic scarlet gaze, bisected with alien, feline pupils.

Lord Voldemort seemed to move gracefully from at rest to predatory in seconds. His over-large hospital gown fluttered around his emaciated figure like the robe of an angel or a ghost. Their faces were level, but Voldemort was much taller than Harry was and would have towered over him had not the floor been lower in the other room. Long, milky nails tapped against the thick, plastic glass. _Maybe this isn't real – maybe it's some kind of test to see if I crack…? It could be a trick, just a big television or something. _But it didn't look or sound as if the man – if it was possible to call him that – was on a screen. It was like being in the reptile room at the zoo, staring at a deadly creature that could kill you with one bite. _"Er, hello?"_

"_Have you come to rescue me?"_ Voldemort's voice was cold and dispassionate, tilting his head to stare at Harry with large eyes, like a curious child. The hiss of his quiet voice seemed to trail through the air long after the words had been spoken. But Harry could sense he was amused by this strange, nocturnal visit.

"_No!" _he replied quickly, moving away from the window.

For a moment, the sanguine eyes widened. Then the monster smiled. It was a cruel gash in the porcelain face. _"Are you certain? All you need to do is vanish this glass. We could be free together, you and I." _

And so hypnotic was that gaze that Harry actually thought about it for about half a second. "_I'm not stupid, thanks. And, um, vanish the glass?" _The freaky, murderous snake-man could stay in his cell forever, as far as Harry was concerned!

Voldemort laughed; a mad sound. _"The glass at the edge of the forest, Harry. Fifteen years, it's been. I am ready to be free of this desolate place."_

"_Um… forest?"_ Wait,_ fuck_ – _"How do you know my name?-!"_

"_Your mind is hardly closed. Can't you smell it – soil rich with dead leaves – little animals hunting and being hunted through the scented trees? The stench of fear and hunger on the air." And as Voldemort spoke, the tall limbs of ancient flora seemed to creak through the cell. Shadows twisted around Harry and the hospital lighting dimmed to moonlight filtered through a great canopy. He was standing in the middle of a wood, foliage rustling around him accompanied by the solitary hoot of an owl in the distance. _

"_I can be a generous lord, Harry. Vanish the glass and all your desires can be made manifest. Do you not wish to be special, set apart, revered?" _A jewel-eyed, pearly snake dangling from a tree-branch spoke with Voldemort's voice.

"_Not really,"_ Harry didn't want his life to be any stranger than it already was, _"I'd settle for being normal. What on earth – where _are_ we?-!"_ And, just as fast as it had come, the forest was gone. Voldemort stood before him, the breath from his lipless mouth and tiny nostril slits misting the viewing glass.

"_I have seen your heart and it is mine. I too was an orphan. I can take you away from the filth you are forced to endure. I can cherish you as your blood relatives never have. Special. Special to me. Vanish the glass, Harry Potter and join Lord Voldemort…"_

It was… tempting. Even though every brain-cell was telling him _no-no-no-no_, the words were persuasive, he was in their thrall. Harry had always dreamed of an unknown relative turning up on the doorstep to rescue him from the Dursleys. Somehow Voldemort's unnatural appearance made it seem like something out of a fairy tale, a real promise from a genie who could read minds. But this was a deformed murderer locked in the most secure room of a mental hospital. Yet if Harry had been able to do the impossible thing Voldemort asked, if it was just a matter of pushing a button, he might have done it under the sway of that eerie voice.

"W-wonderful!" Dr Quirrel was suddenly behind Harry, clamping his hand on Harry's arm, making him jump. "C-c-couldn't understand a w-w-word of it, Mr Potter –_ H-Harry _– but h-he hasn't spoken to anyone for over a-a d-decade, you know. From what l-little we've been able to g-guess at from his oc-c-casional muttering to himself, he's under the impression he's l-lost in an Albanian f-forest. Remarkable!" Harry glanced back at Voldemort, but he had retreated back to his bed, ignoring the doctor and Harry both. "Next t-time perhaps you might move up to actual w-w-words! But a genius idea o-on your part to try hissing at him like a s-s-snake! He r-really engaged w-with you!"

"Um, Dr Quirrel, I didn't–"

"Intuitive, i-inspired! T-this is exactly t-the b-b-breakthrough I've been waiting for. You'll c-come again, w-w-won't you? I know Professor Dumbledore c-can be s-strict about this sort of thing, but my research is at a-a c-critical stage…"

"Sure," Harry agreed, more to escape the place than because he wanted to return. He glanced around at Voldemort, the back of whose bald skull was visible – he wasn't given any blankets. It was sad if he truly had been in solitary isolation, being stared at for fifteen years, Harry supposed not talking to anyone for that long would drive anyone crazy...

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><p>When Harry woke up the next morning, shaken awake by Neville in the eternal search for a missing toy toad, he wondered whether the whole thing had been just some surreal dream. Hogwarts wasn't such a bad place really. Harry didn't have to get up early and make breakfast for the Dursleys, he was given clothes that fit him, the orderlies prevented the violent nuts from attacking anyone, and he didn't even mind Neville waking him up at weird hours asking about his imaginary toad. Apparently, Neville's Uncle Algie accidentally dropped him out a second-story window when he was little and he'd never been the same since. Harry thought the uncle should be the one in the loony bin – but then he had a bias against uncles in general.<p>

He played along, idly peering under the bed for the missing stuffed animal, and resolved not to take any more of the pills Snape had prescribed. He rubbed the scar on his forehead – it was playing up today. He'd got it in the car crash that killed his parents. Sometimes it gave him headaches. Dudley used to say Harry was brain-damaged.

Maybe he was right.


	2. A Session with Snape

**Title: **_The Vanishing Glass_

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Harry Potter or Lord Voldemort. No money is being made from this fan work.

**Rating:** M

**Pairing:** LV/HP

**Summary: **Falsely imprisoned inside Hogwarts Asylum, Harry is determined to prove he's sane. But after taking a walk down the third floor corridor at night, he starts to think he might be crazy after all. AU!HP/LV for Ziggy Sternenstaub.

**Author's Notes: **The madness continues…

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><p><strong>PART II: A SESSION WITH SNAPE<strong>

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><p>"<em>Who are YOU?"<em> said the Caterpillar.

This was not an encouraging opening for a conversation. Alice replied, rather shyly, "_I-I hardly know, sir, just at present- at least I know who I WAS when I got up this morning, but I think I must have been changed several times since then…"_

~ 'Alice in Wonderland'

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><p>Dr Snape's fountain pen scratched dark ink across the pages of the leather notebook open on his large desk. After a few minutes, he carefully shut the book and pulled Harry's file out of one of his plethora of desk draws, leafing through the pages with his long, cigarette-stained fingers. Only then did he fix Harry with his abyssal eyes, gazing blackly like two endless tunnels above his large, hooked nose. "And how are we today, Mr Potter?" he drawled, making Harry's hackles rise.<p>

"Oh, I'm_ fine_," Harry answered with false cheerfulness. "How are you?"

"_My_ health is not the matter at issue here," Snape replied silkily, "since, if you recall, _I_ was not the one who attempted to bludgeon my cousin to death with a dead tortoise." He smiled through crooked teeth. "Perhaps you're prepared to talk about that now?" When Snape said it that way, of course it sounded like Harry was mad. To be honest, Harry still had a hard time believing he'd actually done what Snape said. The tortoise had been a birthday present for Dudley, who had only fed it for a couple of days before losing interest in the little creature. It had then become Harry's job to feed it and muck out the tank. He didn't mind – the tortoise probably liked being Dudley's pet about as much as Harry enjoyed living with the Dursleys. It very wisely hid in its shell whenever Dudley came into the room, but it always came out for Harry, the-bringer-of-food. But when his cousin discovered Harry playing with the tortoise, he threw a tantrum and chucked Harry's only friend out of the second story window and through the greenhouse roof. Harry didn't really remember what happened next, but Aunt Petunia had told everyone tearfully that she'd walked in on her_ disturbed_ nephew beating Dudley with the corpse of her darling diddum's pet.

"Very well," Dr Snape sneered at Harry's silence, "I have a set of questions here and I expect you, Mr Potter, to answer them _honestly_." _Or else, _Snape's fierce glare told Harry clearly. It was a very real threat. Snape was his doctor and had the power to revoke all of his privileges. Harry often wished he was one of Dr Flitwick's patients like Luna – or with Neville being overseen by the kindly Dr Sprout who took them for Art Therapy. But no, Harry was stuck with Dr Snape, who seemed to hate Harry quite as much as Harry hated him.

"Yes, sir…" he agreed sullenly.

"Are you ever under the impression that your thoughts or emotions are being controlled by someone else?"

Harry was tempted to say something very pointed about a certain someone else, but thought better of it. Then he remembered what had happened yesterday morning at breakfast. He'd been trying to ignore Draco Malfoy jeering at him (Harry had pretended he'd chickened out and not done the dare after all). Suddenly, in the middle of eating a piece of buttered toast, he'd felt an overwhelming sense of terrified fury flooding his brain like a burst dam. _Harry was being restrained, his ankles, wrists and neck strapped to the forest floor. Weak, worthless filth dared to do this to him! Rodents in white coats – prey! If only Harry were not trapped in this place… if only he had his full powers, his wand! "Now, my Lord," said the voice of the wasp, buzzing cruelly, happily, in Harry's ear, "If you would just hold still…" The thing stung him, making him sleepy; the sun on flat stones, soaking up heat… _and then something had shot through Harry like a lightning bolt, making him jolt out of his seat and knock his breakfast all over the floor. "No," Harry answered slowly, carefully, trying to appear as truthful as possible.

Dr Snape raised a black eyebrow sardonically but didn't accuse him of lying. After pausing to write something down, he continued: "Do you ever hear or see phenomena which others cannot?"

"No," Harry repeated, a bit too quickly. "Er, I mean, why are you asking–?"

"It is not for you to ask questions, Potter. Do you ever feel that you share nothing in common with your family and those around you?"

"Yeah, sure, all the time," Harry's green eyes – magnified by his glasses – met Snape's glare for glare. It was the doctor who glanced away first, writing something in his notes that was far too long for Harry's liking. When he finally looked up, it was to treat Harry to a leering smirk and Harry's stomach plummeted, knowing he had just made a mistake.

"Do you consider yourself… _special?" _The question caught Harry off guard. There was a knowing, bitter gleam in Snape's dark eyes, the doctor's malicious tone as thick and oily as his black hair. "Do you have _special abilities_, Potter? Abilities, perhaps… _others_ cannot understand?" Harry remembered how Voldemort had said the same word – _special_ – like a benediction…

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><p>…<em>Harry had waited until Neville was asleep and snuck out, easily getting past the one orderly still on duty. After years of hiding from his cousin Dudley, Harry was very good at not being seen. In fact, he might go as far to say it was pretty much his only talent. When he wanted to, Harry could just about turn himself invisible. <em>

_He had to know, he had to go back, to see if it was real. Retracing his steps along the third floor corridor, Harry found that all the doors, which had been locked so securely, simply pushed open without the need for an ID pass or access codes. Maybe Quirrel had left them open for him, had known he would come? Nevertheless, it left Harry uneasy. It was out of the ordinary and that worried Harry. "I'm not crazy," he whispered to himself, trying to sound confident of the fact._

_The room was still there, with its viewing window as high as the ceiling. In the darkness, the glass shone like a great mirror. Harry's heart beat fast in his chest as he crept towards Voldemort's cell; the ghostly shadow of a nervous boy reflected back at him, growing bigger as Harry mover nearer to the pane. No one was there, neither Dr Quirrel, nor Snape, nor the plump, balding orderly he had seen before. Harry suddenly had the alarming idea that they were there, hidden, watching him through cameras, seeing what he would do… Harry shook his head: it was the middle of the night. No one was here except him and –_

"_Harry…" it was a pleased, lazy outstretching of a word, like a cat waking and flexing its claws. "You have returned to me…" Harry couldn't see him in the darkness; only hear Lord Voldemort's cold, eerie voice and the rustle of a hospital gown. _

_Harry pressed his nose against the glass. "Hello," he answered, a little breathless, his eyes trying to sort through the thick blackness of the room for a glimpse of the strange man he'd come to see. He didn't dare turn on the lights._

"_How brave you are, Harry – just like your parents. How brave… and how terrified… but you needn't worry… it can be our little secret – I won't say a word." Voldemort's laughter was high and feather-light. _

"_You knew my parents?" Harry sank to his knees, his hands flat against the glass, shocked and filling up with hope. The Dursleys would never talk about Lily and James Potter and Harry didn't even have any photos – could only imagine what they looked like. "Could you–" his voice was choked with emotion. It only confirmed what he'd suspected from the beginning: that Lord Voldemort really was a magical being. This wasn't a delusion, it couldn't be. "I mean, could you tell me about them? They died in a car crash when I was little and I…"_

_There was a dull gleam in the darkness; two glimmering red eyes fixed on Harry, so close they could have felt each other's breath on their faces were it not for the glass. "A car crash, you say?" his chilly tone sounded oddly offended. "How interesting…" Voldemort's whisper trailed off into silence._

"_Sorry," Harry said carefully, not wanting to offend his new friend "but what's interesting?" _

"_Why Harry, we are both orphans!" Voldemort's words swelled with sibilant delight, ending with a hissy giggle. "You see how fate has brought us together? Oh, but it all makes sense…" And he took a deep breath, as if about to confide some wonderful secret. "You see, Harry… dear, brave Harry… my family are dead too… and they died in exactly the same manner as yours." And he sounded so sad Harry didn't know what to say. "But now…" Voldemort went on breathlessly, "You have come… it has been many years, but you have come… my saviour, my chosen one… you can perform the magic I cannot, restore me to myself again… take me from this forest, Harry… let me in…" Once more the voice took hold of Harry, urging him on: _just vanish the glass, Harry, vanish the glass…

"_I'm sorry, I can't – I… I can't… you're a murderer, I can't free you… I'm sorry… I'm really not special or magical… I'm… I'm just Harry…" He'd gotten sucked in again, sucked into the suffocating dream spun by this alien creature – that was why he'd come, wasn't it? Just to sit here and listen to a beautiful, otherworldly voice telling him tenderly how he, Harry, was special to him. But he couldn't do it, he couldn't vanish the glass. The urge was so strong, like a lust in his body, as clear and brightly resounding as a bell. But it was impossible. He felt like he might cry. _

"_Of course you can," Voldemort lovingly crooned, "why, when I was your age I could do all sorts of impossible things… you don't mean to tell me you've never made things happen when you were scared or angry? Never hurt those who were foolish enough to cross you?"_

_It sounded too much like one of the questions Snape and, before that, the school psychologist, had asked him. Harry drew back, worried that he was being watched, that all of this was some trick to get him to admit that he was crazy. Well, he wouldn't do it! He wasn't going to be locked up here forever. Harry was going to get released and have a normal life. "I'm not mad," he said slowly, deliberately, backing away – forcing himself to remember that he wasn't talking to a genie, but a man: a killer who'd undergone some kind of gruesome cosmetic surgery. Voldemort wasn't his friend, didn't care about Harry, and why would he? All he was interested in was getting Harry to help him break out of the asylum. _

"_That's what I said…" Voldemort replied quietly. "When Professor Dumbledore came for me. I was younger than you are now... a child. I was foolish, proud… I confessed a great many things – things I had no business telling anyone. You are right to be afraid and keep your secrets close. For in the forest no one is safe and even the squirrels in the trees are listening to you breathe…"_

_There was a muffled scream and a crash that made Harry almost jump out of his skin. "Go, Harry…" Voldemort commanded, wielding his unnatural voice like a whip, "Run, and tell no one where you've been…" _

_Harry bolted, the high trilling of Voldemort's laughter ringing in his ears…_

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><p>Dr Snape raised an eyebrow sardonically. "Well?" he sniffed.<p>

"No, sir…" Harry said finally, while his heart raced in fear.

The doctor was suddenly looming above Harry, almost frothing at the mouth, his fingers digging painfully into Harry's shoulders. "You think you're being _clever_, do you, Potter?"

"No, sir!" Harry whimpered, terrified by the madness in Snape's contorted face.

"I see. Tell me, Potter, why have you been sneaking around the hospital at night?"

"I… I haven't…"

"I think we both know that's a lie," the doctor treated his patient to a nasty smirk, letting go of Harry and stalking back to his desk. "So, what is it you do on these nightly jaunts of yours? I understand last night was the third time Longbottom has reported you missing from your dormitory this week."

"I… I…" Harry tried desperately to think up an excuse. "I just like to walk, you know, clear my head…"

"Ah yes, you do have so _many things_ on your mind at present, don't you, Potter? You obviously–" The door creaked and both their heads snapped round.

It was Quirrel. "E-e-excuse me, S-S-Severus, b-but Professor Dumbledore w-wants to see you; apparently t-there's b-been a development in the Granger c-case… s-something about a t-t-troll in the P-Polyjuice Project."

Snape's eyebrows shot up. Then he fixed Harry with a glare, "Stay here, Potter!" he ordered before capping his pen and donning his coat, almost knocking over poor Dr Quirrel as he stalked past him out of the room, the white coat billowing behind him.

Dr Quirrel gave Harry a nervous smile. Harry returned a weak grin, grateful for the time to think up a good, sane, excuse for sneaking down to visit a patient who in the best possible scenario was a mass murderer and at worst was a figment of Harry's imagination. Still, Dr Quirrel was real. That was a good sign. "How… um… how is… you-know…?"

"_Oh…"_ the young doctor shook his head sadly. "Electroconvulsive therapy u-usually c-c-calms him… but he… h-he couldn't r-r-remember and, w-well… he can b-be so _demanding_, I… sometimes I… f-find it very hard to be his doctor. He is… s-so much more than a m-man… and I am so _weak_…" Dr Quirrel burst into tears, sobbing into his sleeve. "I s-_swore _I w-wouldn't end up l-l-like Slughorn…"

"It's okay, erm… I thought he wasn't talking to you?" Harry stood awkwardly as Quirrel collapsed on Snape's couch.

"_I'm not s-stupid!"_ Quirrel cried, "I know why Professor Dumbledore assigned him to me! But I thought, d-d-despite everything, if I could make p-progress; m-m-my career… I thought if I could only_ understand _him a b-bit better, if… if…"

"Well, you have, haven't you?" Harry fought to find the right thing to say. He thought about patting Dr Quirrel on the shoulder but the gesture was just too awkward. He tried to be kind: "I mean… you told me last week was a breakthrough, right?"

"THE DARK LORD CANNOT BE UNDERSTOOD! HIS GLORY IS BEYOND THE COMPREHENSION OF A PATHETIC MORTAL SUCH AS I!"

Harry looked over at the red button on Dr Snape's desk. It was for the doctor to push if he needed to summon the orderlies in order to restrain a patient. Quirrel's eyes were wide and green froth dribbled from the edges of his mouth. Harry backed away towards the desk. Then a voice seemed to slither out from behind the thrashing doctor, slick against the air, commanding silence. _"Let me… speak to him."_

"Master," Quirrel whimpered, tears streaking down his face, his blue eyes glassy like those of a fish. "M-m-master, I… I am not s-s-strong enough…"

"_But you are," _came the voice again, as cold and hypnotic as Harry remembered. Something jarred in him to hear its whispering lilt directed at the doctor and not him. _"Let me show you…" _Harry's hand hovered over the button, trembling and slippery with sweat.

The young doctor gave a shudder, twitching like a marionette suddenly pulled up by its strings. His head jerked upwards and his hair began to fall out, as if boiled away, flesh bubbling and morphing and dripping. Harry's back hit Snape's bookcase. He couldn't call for help. This was a delusion, some horrible visitation out of nightmare. If he pressed the button, they would never let him out. "Go away…!" he cried, shaking his head, closing his eyes, receding into himself, curling to the floor. _This wasn't real, wasn't real… _Harry's fingers ripped at his own hair, trying to drown out the horrible slapping and gurgling that was Quirrel. _"You're not real!"_

"_You don't mean that, Harry…" _Voldemort crooned and Harry looked up. The terrible face as white as a skull with its glittering eyes was staring at him from the back of Quirrel's head. The aberration held the doctor's body in a strangely sinuous sway; arms stretching out from the swathe of white-coated back, hands offering up contorted comfort, the wrists tilted unnaturally. _"I missed you," _the gash of a mouth murmured, _"Do you know I had the greatest difficulty recalling the colour of your eyes… You see what I have become – mere shadow and vapour. The only way I can touch you is through another's hands. Help me, Harry, and together we shall be unstoppable."_

"G-go _away_," Harry mumbled. "I'm normal! I don't _have_… hallucinations!" He stood, furious, rigid with anger. He would beat this. He would prove this was all some crazy dream. _I'm not mad._

Quirrel was walking backwards towards him and the monstrous face was smiling. _"Come, Harry…" _And Dr Quirrel's fingers stroked across Harry's scar. All at once, his skin was on fire, as through a thousand tiny needles were trying to escape, trying to get out through his flesh to Voldemort. The hand juddered in pleasure and grabbed at Harry's chin. He bit his lip, refusing to cry out, refusing to acknowledge this was real. _"Oh, little one, they haven't told you anything, have they? _And it was so tenderly said that Harry couldn't help but lean closer, enthralled even as he denied this was happening. _"Our… connection…?"_

"I don't know what you're talking about!" Harry shouted. "And its bollocks anyway because YOU'RE NOT REAL!"

Voldemort smiled lazily, Quirrel's legs shaking beneath him, and kissed Harry. _"We are the same, you and I."_ the monster laughed softly between Harry's lips. Livid and surreal, the eyes swallowed him just as the gash of a mouth did the same. It was so crazy and unexpected; Harry didn't even pull away, simply gawped against that ice pale skin, instinctively arching into the touch. _"That's why they brought you to Hogwarts, after all. Because you are Lord Voldemort even as I am."_

"_I'M NOT!"_ Harry wrenched away from the Quirrel-Voldemort creature and brought his fist down on the button...

* * *

><p>Something gold was glinting just above Harry's head. He tried to reach for it, but his arms were too heavy. He blinked. It was a pair of glasses. How strange. Harry blinked again. The smiling face of an old man swam into view above him, forming up around the golden pince-nez perched on his crooked nose. The man continued to smile gently.<p>

Harry looked around blearily, trying to move. He was lying in a hospital bed with white linen sheets. The old man sitting in the chair beside him checked a gold pocket watch. "You gave us quite a scare, Harry Potter, quite a scare indeed." The air stank of disinfectant.

"W-what happened to Quirrel?"

"Doctor Quirrel?" the man's eyebrows shot up.

"He umm…" Harry tried to sluggishly backtrack, "he said he'd - er - get help or… or something…"

"Ah." The blue eyes twinkled. "Yes, Quirinus summoned me as soon as he saw you take ill. Very wise, I must say. Oh, we haven't been introduced, have we? Professor Albus Dumbledore at your service, my boy."


	3. The Mirror of Desire

**Title:**_The Vanishing Glass_

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Harry Potter or Lord Voldemort. No money is being made from this fan work.

**Rating:** M

**Pairing:** LV/HP

**Summary:**Falsely imprisoned inside Hogwarts Asylum, Harry is determined to prove he's sane. But after taking a walk down the third floor corridor at night, he starts to think he might be crazy after all. AU!HP/LV for Ziggy Sternenstaub.

**Author's Notes: **Sorry this took me so long. I have to be in such a singular mood to work on the tale. Rest assured, though, it is not abandoned!

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><p><strong>PART III: The Mirror of Desire<strong>

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><p>"<em>But I don't want to go among mad people," Alice remarked.<br>"Oh, you can't help that," said the Cat: "we're all mad here. I'm mad. You're mad."  
>"How do you know I'm mad?" said Alice.<br>"You must be," said the Cat, or you wouldn't have come here."_

~ 'Alice in Wonderland'

* * *

><p>"Harry!" the voice was almost bursting with excitement. "Harry, <em>I've found Trevor!<em>" This was such enormous news that it brought a surprised Harry awake at once, blinking in bright light. Neville Longbottom was lying on his stomach, pointing at something under his bed. Harry had assumed that his ward mate's toy toad had been lost ages ago, now just a memory of a plush toad jumping around in Neville's head. Happy for his friend, Harry eagerly bent down to see.

It wasn't a toad – fake or otherwise – lurking under the hospital bed. It was a small, grey cactus in a pot. Instead of spines, however, it was covered in little boils. The plant was pulsating slightly, giving it the rather sinister look of some diseased internal organ. "Umm… Neville…?"

"I suppose it wasn't really surprising, he's been a bit peaky for ages. Poor Trevor. No wonder I couldn't find him. Did I tell you that my Uncle Algie got him from Assyria? He's a _Bufo Mimbletonis._ It's a really rare species." Harry continued to stare at the plant. He could have sworn it hadn't been there last night when Neville had woken him to search for Trevor. The cactus was… sort of toad-shaped, he supposed, if you unfocused your eyes and looked at it from a certain angle. _Was this another test? Was Neville one of them too? Or was he really going mad? Maybe it actually was a toad and Harry was the one imagining a plant? _The other boy looked up at him. "What is it, Harry? Oh, I can't wait to show you, he has this really cool defensive mechanism–"

Harry stood up, stepping back. He ached with disappointment. Up until now he'd felt a kinship to Neville. Both of them had been abused by nutty uncles. And sure, Neville had a few weird fixations, but mostly he was okay. Seeing him like this… "It's a _plant,_" he said stupidly, because it was the only thing he could say.

"Not for much longer," Neville said proudly. "And he still enjoys flies, don't you Trevor?"

"I'm… I'm going back to bed and turning off the light. Night, Neville." Harry flicked the switch and climbed back into bed, squeezing his eyes shut. _I'm not mad._

* * *

><p>"…Harry, my boy, I'm very sorry your relatives are such awful people. I quite understand. My own brother was once arrested for goat rustling." Professor Dumbledore leaned back in his chair and, though his face was solemn, his blue eyes were twinkling. At first Harry had hoped that the professor would believe the truth about why he'd been sent to Hogwarts. But whereas Dr Snape had outright accused Harry of lying, Dumbledore just didn't seem interested in the Dursleys at all. "Now, how have you been this week? Have you been taking your medication? Hagrid tells me you haven't had another seizure, which is splendid news."<p>

"Everything's been fine, sir." Harry said, trying to be cautious even as he fought the desire to hit something in frustration. The professor's affability was worse than Snape's sadism. At least with Snape, he'd know where he stood. It was impossible to guess what Dumbledore was thinking about Harry's answers.

"And I trust you've heard the good news about Mr Longbottom's toad?"

"Er… yeah – of course – I'm his roommate." _What does he expect me to say?_ "I mean… Neville's over the moon." Harry tactfully neglected to mention the creepy cactus-thing.

"So I understand. Lemon drop, Harry?" Dumbledore held out a bowl of small, yellow lollies.

Harry's forehead burned with pain for a moment - _you are right to be afraid and keep your secrets close – _and then it was gone. "Sure, thanks…" Harry popped a sweet in his mouth. "Um, sir… how is Dr Quirrell? Last time I talked to him, he seemed... umm…."

Professor Dumbledore shook his head sadly, "Oh, I'm afraid Quirinus has left us. I blame myself, you know. He was a talented young doctor… but he had… difficulty managing the strain of such a complicated, high profile case. Now, where were we–?" _What happened to Dr Quirrell after Voldemort had… possessed him? What did Dumbledore mean when he said Quirrell _was_ a talented doctor? _Harry blinked, shaking off the thoughts. That… _thing_ hadn't happened. Harry had experienced a seizure… it wasn't real.

"You mean Voldemort, sir?" Harry interrupted, his heart jumping at the professor mentioning the man whose crimson eyes and soft, hypnotic voice haunted his dreams. The fire in Dumbledore's office seemed to gutter and crackle oddly green at the mention of the supposedly cursed name.

Dumbledore glanced at the fireplace and then gave Harry a penetrating stare over his half-moon spectacles. It felt like he was x-raying Harry's brain. At last Dumbledore sighed and shifted in his chair, smoothing his neatly-creased, plum trousers. "Lord Voldemort will be moved elsewhere tomorrow," he told Harry gently. "Believe me, I understand why you sought him out – I still miss your parents very much myself – but Voldemort will give you neither knowledge nor truth. Men have wasted away trying to understand him, entranced by what they have seen, or been driven mad not knowing if the warped creature before them is real or even possible."

"You… you knew my parents too?"

"Certainly, I knew them. Lily Evans and James Potter were two of my most promising students. They came to Hogwarts fresh out of university, both of them already brilliant doctors in their own right." Harry had never known his parents were doctors, or that they had worked at Hogwarts. They must have been assigned to Voldemort's case – that must be how he knew them. Uncle Vernon had always said the Potters were useless good-for-nothings. But they couldn't have been penniless good-for-nothings, could they? How could they have left Harry so much money if they were?

"But I caution you most strongly against going to Voldemort for answers, Harry. People come to Hogwarts every week to see him. Relatives of those he has killed, specialists who think he can help them make a name for themselves, or those who were once his followers and who now pose as victims. Mostly, Voldemort believes them to be beneath his notice. But, occasionally, he shows one of them nothing less than the deepest and most desperate desire of their hearts. He is a mirror, Harry, a terrible mirror without a soul and I ask you not to go looking for him again."

_I have seen your heart and it is mine. I too was an orphan. I can take you away from the filth you are forced to endure. I can cherish you as your blood relatives never have. Special. Special to me. Vanish the glass, Harry Potter and join Lord Voldemort._ "Sir – Professor Dumbledore? Can I ask you something?"

"Obviously, you've just done so," Dumbledore smiled. "You may ask me one more thing, however."

"What did he offer you?"

"I?" For the first time, the professor looked uncertain. He sighed again. "Insanity, cruel dreams, and neglect of the only thing which makes life worthwhile… Goodnight, Harry. I'll see you next week."

* * *

><p>Dumbledore had convinced Harry not to go looking for Lord Voldemort again. Harry needed to focus on convincing the doctors he was sane enough to leave and thinking about Voldemort – let alone <em>seeing<em> Voldemort – just made everything crazier. He wished he could forget about what he'd seen; he still wasn't sure about how much of it was even real. He took his medication like Dumbledore and Snape told him. It didn't stop the nightmares: _eerie red eyes and Dr Quirrell screaming, driven insane by his own patient. Then he was Quirrell, walking through a strange forest, and a snake was kissing him, bathed in green moonlight –_

Suddenly, Harry's forehead spiked with pain _- Harry… _It was the ghost of Voldemort's voice, smooth and full of chilling promise. He looked up. His name had been painted neatly on the grey hospital wall in red ink.

"Go away," Harry told the red word. "I'm not interested in anything you have to say. You drove Dr Quirrell as crazy as you are."

More writing appeared. Harry's scar was aching as scarlet letters formed up on the grey wall, as though drawn by an invisible hand: _Quirrell was weak. He is in Azkaban Ward now, amongst the other weaklings with pretensions to understanding. Don't you want to know the truth, Harry? I can give it to you._

"So I can end up as insane as he did? No thanks. Dumbledore was right about you."

The pain in his head increased sharply and the words came faster, smudging together. Quirrell_ was not mad and neither am I. Professor Dumbledore and Herr Grindelwald are never as wise or as right as they pretend. It is their great secret. They do not wish for us to speak. You know that Hogwarts Asylum is not what it appears. Terrible things have happened here, Harry, things which have been covered up for many years. Let me show you, and you will see why we must escape this place before it happens again; before you are trapped to wander forever in a forest of your own. _

Harry could not help the shudder that ran through him at the thought of Voldemort's awful cell and the strange trees that dominated the man's delusions. "Great, a conspiracy theory – because that sounds_ sane_." But the truth was that the writing had a point. Harry had never been to a mental institution before, but he was pretty sure that Hogwarts wasn't a normal hospital. That _something_ off was going on here. He was talking to sentient graffiti, for god's sake. "You know what? _Fine_. Show me. Whatever."

_Tom Marvolo Riddle._

"What's that supposed to mean? A Riddle? Thanks, that's just what I _don't_ need right now."

"Um… Harry?" It was Neville's voice. He sounded scared. Harry turned round. Neville was pale with shock, staring at the wall.

Harry was ecstatic. "You can see it too?-!" A bead of sweat rolled down his nose and Harry reached up to wipe it away. His fingers were darkly bright with something that smelt, looked, and tasted very much like blood.

It was the same shade of red as the words Voldemort had written to Harry. "_Oh_ _no_…"

After he'd cleaned up the mess, Harry had made Neville promise not to tell anyone about the messages he'd daubed on the wall. He moved his bed to cover the stains, claiming that sleeping next to the window was too cold. The blood didn't prove anything, right? Only… Harry was beginning to believe that it _did_. How else could he explain what had happened? _It's true, I'm going mad. Fuck. Fuck-fuckity-fuck._

* * *

><p>It didn't stop him asking Hagrid about Riddle. "Sure, I knew Tom…" the big orderly nodded as he stopped by Harry and Neville's dormitory room to check on them. "E was 'ere when I firs' started work at Hogwarts. Years ago, it was. He can't 'ave been much older than you two are now… One o' that German fella's – Grendel something – anyway, one of his patients. Nice kid when he was on them anti-psychotics. We used to go hiking together in the forest. You kids doin' okay, then? Dr Spout said I should look in on you, Neville. How's Trevor?"<p>

"He's good. What happened to Riddle?" Neville asked, at the same time as Harry said "You mean Grindelwald?"

"Things went… bad." Hagrid looked away, "Two girls died an' the doctor was arrested. They almost closed Hogwarts. Never saw Tom after that. Some said Dumbledore had 'im moved someplace 'e couldn't hurt anybody. You used to hear stories once in awhile. About how 'e escaped or was still locked up in some secret chamber, doped up to 'is eyeballs, hissin' that weird snake language o' his…"

"_Snake language?" _Harry repeated, remembering his first visit to Voldemort's cell.

"I shouldn't have said that."

"Hagrid, is Riddle… _Voldemort?_"

Hagrid looked furious with himself. "I ain't saying nothing." And despite every effort, that was all the information Harry managed to get from the orderly.

* * *

><p>"Did you know Voldemort's real name was Tom Marvolo Riddle?" Harry asked Luna during Art Therapy. He must be truly desperate asking Loony Lovegood – as Malfoy called her – for help. Oh well, everyone was loony at Hogwarts, officially. It couldn't hurt.<p>

Luna hummed softly under her breath, her pale hair falling across her face as she carefully finished her drawing. "That's interesting." She looked across at him, tilting her head, eyebrows lifting with curiosity. "An anagram. I am Lord Voldemort. Voldemort. Hmm… I think I'll call him Fluffy."

Harry couldn't think of anything to say for a moment and looked down. Two smudges of red stared up at him, the oily pastel staining the fingers of his right hand crimson. There was no colour for Voldemort's skin. Just crisp, white paper. He brushed his left hand across the smooth emptiness of the page, imagining smoother flesh. Just as hard, just as cold. "I don't… um… I don't think he has any hair…"

"Oh, Fluffy has plenty of hair, see?" Luna lifted her picture up. It was a three headed dog. "He's the guardian of the underworld. You'll have to get past him to get to the Dark Lord." She leaned closer, pointing at the dog. "Look…" she whispered, "you just have to find the secret door." And Harry saw that the animal was sitting on a trapdoor; a discrete line of black under Fluffy's tail.

"Where? I mean… how do I find it?" He was just being nice, that was all. Not seriously thinking about the plausibility of his answers being under a mythical dog's arse. He wasn't that desperate. Luna was crazy, Harry was sane.

"It's in your head, of course. Where else would it be? Why, have you lost it?"

"No," he snapped.

"It's all right," Luna withdrew, taking a fresh piece of paper from the pile. "I think my next picture will be a unicorn." She smiled serenely to herself. "Doors open both ways. I'm sure he hasn't forgotten."

Harry crumbled the paper, compacting it viciously between his hands. _That's what I'm afraid of_.


End file.
